Dimension Jump
by Scandalacious Intentions
Summary: AU. Compatible with 'Daring, Nerve and Chivalry' and 'Where Dwell the Brave at Heart'. After a blow to the head, Harry wakes to find himself in a very different world, because for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
1. Have You Heard of Voldemort?

**Disclaimer: It's not mine. None of it. Except Remus Lupin who I have kidnapped and hope will develop acute Stockholm Syndrome by the end of the week.**

**A/N: A little present for everyone who has read Where Dwell the Outtakes and Daring, Nerve and Chivalry. You really do have to have read these to understand this story. Some of you have been asking for this for a long time. So here they are: Electrius living a normal life.**

**A/N: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. For every decision made, the alternative is played out in another reality. I've had a little fun playing in it.**

**I hope to have a new chapter up every week, but with my workload until March, this may become 'fortnight'. It's not going to be a story of epic proportion, but it **_**is**_** a multi-chapter because this will take quite some explaining.**

_1995_

Harry winced as he tried to sit up. He ached everywhere. Opening his eyes and squinting without his glasses, he made out of the shape of a dark haired, blurred figure leaning over him, and cried out in horror.

"Harry! Harry, whoa! Pomfrey will have me chucked out if you don't shut up."

He complied, recognising the Hospital Wing at once. He wiped his glasses, relieved to finally get a glimpse of his visitor.

She was tall and thin in the extreme with high cheekbones and a tiny nose. Her electric blue eyes twinkled as she smiled an extremely familiar smile.

Harry frowned. "Do I know you?"

Her eyes widened. "Harry, we grew up together. You've known me since you were, like, two."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I grew up in Surrey."

She laughed. "You grew up in the West Country."

He sighed irritably. "I live with my aunt and uncle in Little Whinging. That's in Surrey. I have done since I was a year old."

She rolled her eyes. "No, you didn't. Stop talking shit. It's not going to make me feel sorry for you."

"And I'm sorry, but I haven't got the faintest clue who you are so…"

She covered her eyes with her long fingers, splaying them elegantly across her forehead. "Merlin, I hit you harder than I thought."

"You hit me? I don't remember that."

She sat beside him on the bed, making Harry extremely uncomfortable. He attempted to move away from her, thinking her to be far too forward, but she only followed him until he was practically falling off the bed.

"In the Quidditch match?"

Yes, he could remember a match. Harry nodded and gestured for her to elaborate.

"Well, I play Beater on your team."

"No," said Harry. "The Weasley twins are the Gryffindor Beaters."

"Harry, George hasn't played for three weeks. I'm the sub. You know this. You've known it for nearly a month. What's the matter with you?"

Harry frowned. "George was playing when I fell."

She laughed. "No, he wasn't. I assure you. You must have mistaken him for Fred. I hit you in the head with a Bludger bat when I swung too hard. If I hadn't, my evening would be so much better spent. My Mum completely chewed me out. She said if I wanted to knock people off their brooms, I should swing toward the other team."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to digest this. He oughtn't have been surprised, he thought. After all, strange people appeared at random at regular intervals in his life.

"I hope you don't think me rude," he said, straightening himself up and wincing at the stabbing sensation in the back of his head, "but who _are _you?"

The girl sighed deeply in a manner decidedly reminiscent of Lupin. "Merlin, I've turned you into a vegetable. I'm Cara, stupid."

She might as well have been Stuart from Sunderland, but clearly she was supposed to mean something to him, so Harry nodded.

"You haven't the faintest clue who I am, have you?"

Harry shook his head, apologetic.

"Christ," she murmured, turning away as Madame Pomfrey arrived with a foul smelling potion.

"Drink this," said Pomfrey, confirming Harry's worst fears that it was indeed for his consumption. "We're sending you home for a few days to recuperate."

Harry, horrified, swung his legs out of the bed and tried to walk toward her, failing miserably and doing a wonderful impersonation of Mundungus Fletcher after three measures of Firewhiskey.

"Mr. Potter, please sit down. You fell a long way. Your head was hit remarkably hard. You need rest."

"No! You can't send me back there!"

"Mr. Potter, sit down at once before you do yourself further injury."

Dreading to think what Dudley would do to him in this state, Harry collapsed onto the bed and did not even attempt to decipher Cara's baffled stares. He closed his eyes and sighed, picturing the expression of glee on Uncle Vernon's face as he arrived home barely able to walk.

He did not open them until he heard Madame Pomfrey call his name from the other side of the ward.

"Just down here, Mr. Potter."

Harry flung back the covers and she sighed irritably. "He's trying to get up again."

"You called me," he protested weakly, knowing resistance was futile.

"Harry, sit down for me, yeah?"

Harry gawped at the figure now approaching his hospital bed. It was like looking into a mirror as James Potter smiled at him.

"I'm sorry, James. It was an accident." Cara bit her lip. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

James winked at her. "Don't be silly. You didn't kill him."

"I might as well have," said Cara. "He doesn't even know who we are."

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't know who _you_ are. I know my Dad."

James laughed. "Good. That saves us the awkward introductions when a middle-aged stranger sits on your bed and puts his arm round you, eh?"

Though Cara giggled, Harry was still in such a state of shock that he could only stare, wonder and awe in his eyes, at his father.

"Can I ask you a question?"

James nodded.

"Do I have a scar here?" He pointed at his forehead and waited anxiously for the response.

Both his father and the stranger peered at him in confusion.

"No," said his father, frowning slightly. "Should you?"

"Well," said Harry, wondering how he was going to phrase this, "yes."

"I don't think you'd have a scar from a bat. Besides, you were hit in the _back_ of the head," said his father. "Now, come on. I think we'd better get you home. Your Mum's worried sick."

"My Mum?" Harry beamed.

"Yes, Harry," said James, "like all mammals, you have a mother. Please don't sound so surprised. You're frightening Cara."

Harry attempted to tidy his hair up. "So you two know each other?"

"Harry, now you're frightening _me_."

"Sorry."

He frowned and felt Cara's presence before he realised she was walking alongside him.

"He's my godfather," she told him. "We're, like, matching."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. She was all right, he supposed in small doses, but she was starting to drive him mad.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" he asked, on reflection, he thought, a little too sharply.

Cara blinked, but she was not phased by his tone. "Oh you've gone back to being a twat then? That's good. You're obviously getting better. Your Dad is my godfather. My Dad is your godfather. We match."

Harry smiled. He knew her smile had been familiar.

"Sirius?"

Cara raised an eyebrow. "Well, duh."

Harry grinned. Finally, someone familiar. "So what happened?"

Cara frowned. "To who?"

Conscious of his father thinking him mad, Harry lowered his voice. "To Sirius. What happened? I haven't got a scar so I mean, it can't have worked out like…I thought it had."

"What do you mean what happened to him? He married my mum and had me. Well, _he_ didn't have me. That would be really weird, but-"

"Are you always like this?"

Cara stopped and bit her lip. "Like what?"

"I don't know…_pedantic_?"

"Yep. Get used to it, baby."

Harry frowned. "Baby? Shouldn't I be older than you? I _am_, aren't I?"

Cara nodded. "But only by a year and a bit. 'Baby' just irritates the living shit out of you."

He had escaped Dudley to find he was bullied by a girl.

"Great."

* * *

><p>Godric's Hollow was a sleepy locale in the West Country. Harry couldn't think of a village further from Little Whinging if he tried. The church was of a Catholic persuasion with stained glass windows and immaculately kept grounds. The shops were filled with goods he was sure he would not be able to buy anywhere else in the country.<p>

His parents' country cottage was a seemingly normal building. Perhaps the garden was a little wilder than those of its neighbours, but there was very little to distinguish them otherwise.

Until he stepped inside. The kitchen was homely and evidently well used. The flagstone floor was heated, the AGA hissed quietly in the corner, and the walls were covered in moving photographs.

An obese ginger cat settled into a kitchen chair with a cushioned seat. It looked up to greet him, decided Harry wasn't anyone important, and dozed quietly.

"Lily?"

His mother's flame-red hair flew out behind her as she darted down the wooden staircase, just visible through the door. Harry's breath caught in his throat as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Are you all right?"

Harry, not quite convinced he would be able to stand this much longer without bursting into tears, merely nodded.

"Bloody Quidditch," his mother muttered. She talked over his head, presumably aiming her tirade at his father. "What did I tell you? It was a miracle _you _managed to survive school. _How_ you managed to stay on that thing when you could only hold it with one hand, I'll never know." She took a deep breath and kissed the top of her son's head. "What happened?"

Harry could only shrug. "I don't know."

His mother released him, her emerald eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Harry's eyes widened. While Aunt Petunia had always been a blood relation, he had never thought about just how much his mother might have reminded him of her. At least, not until now. She was shrewd and canny and adopted the same 'Don't fuck with me' glare when she thought she was being lied to.

"Harry, why don't you go and change out of those clothes?" His father smiled at him, obviously trying to pretend this was a request.

After all these years, Harry thought himself something of an expert on eavesdropping on conversations that were clearly about him. He sat at the top of the stairs and listened hard.

"One of the Beaters walloped him with a bat. It wasn't deliberate. I think Harry just flew too close at the wrong time. Apparently, he fell quite a way too, but he didn't hit the ground."

Though he strained, Harry could not decipher his mother's response.

"No, no, no. Peter slowed him down. By the time he was going to hit the ground, he was lifted onto a stretcher. His head should be fine."

Again, he heard his mother mumble. Harry's blood boiled. What right did Peter have to stop him being pulverized?

"Well, he didn't know Cara and asked me something about a scar…I don't know. His forehead, I think."

He didn't want to hear any more. Harry stormed off toward the landing and finding himself confronted with four doors, wondered which one would lead him to his room. Distracted by thoughts of Peter Pettigrew and what he was doing at a Hogwarts Quidditch match, let alone being allowed to take the next breath in front of his father and Sirius, Harry eventually discovered a small bedroom painted bright red and decorated with Quidditch memorabilia and a signed photograph of seven men in navy blue robes bearing two bulrushes.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling. He had everything he had ever wanted and hated himself for demanding answers, but he didn't understand any of this.

There was only one person who had ever treated him like an adult, never minced his words, and understood things like this.

A light tapping on his door caused Harry to jump.

"Harry?"

"Come in."

His father made himself comfortable on the end of his bed and blew the air out of his cheeks. He ran a hand through his messy hair and turned to face his son.

"I don't…No, that's not…Okay." James took a deep breath. "There's obviously something wrong, isn't there?"

Harry hurriedly shook his head. "Why should anything be wrong?" It was a very good question. This was a perfect world and he could learn to love it if someone would only explain it to him.

"You're not yourself and I…Listen, Harry, I just want the truth. Starting with your forehead. Why _would _you have a scar? Why do you think you should have one?"

Harry wondered how on earth he was going to phrase his answer. "Have you heard of Voldemort?"

James narrowed his eyes behind his thick lenses. "What does he have to do with this?"

Harry swallowed hard. "Well, everything."

James nodded. "All right, okay. So am I to assume you think he's given it to you?"

Harry nodded. "This is going to make me sound like I should be committed but I was raised in Surrey by my aunt and uncle because Voldemort killed my par…you and my Mum. He gave me a scar in the middle of my forehead because for some reason, and I don't know why yet but I think there are people who do, I survived when he performed the Killing Curse on me."

Harry stopped and finally allowed himself to look up and meet his father's wide eyes.

"Harry, that's…"

"I know it sounds impossible."

James shook his head quickly. "No, that's not what I meant. Harry, there's a boy in your year. His name is Neville."

Harry's jaw dropped. Neville Longbottom was the Chosen One?

"His parents were tortured to insanity but they wouldn't give Voldemort his location. One of Voldemort's spies overheard a prophecy and sent him on the trail of a child born on July 31st. You were incredibly lucky. We _all_ were."

Harry shook his head slowly. "What happened to him?"

"Voldemort?"

"Neville. _Both_."

James smiled grimly. "Neville lives with his grandmother. His life has not been pleasant. He's not yet defeated Voldemort, but even though he's fifteen, he's still a child. We're all working on it."

"_We_?"

James lowered his voice. "I'm not sure I should be telling you this. '_We_' are the Order of the Phoenix. We-"

Harry nodded. "Oh yeah. I know about it."

James blinked. "How on earth-?"

"They meet in Sirius' house. They don't let us listen in on their meetings, but Sirius let me sit it one at the start of this year and-"

James merely looked at him.

"I don't know how this has happened, but I don't have the past you think I have." Harry lightly traced the outline of his now non-existent scar. "I don't understand. I'm grateful, but I just don't understand."

James accepted this with remarkable composure. His hands shook, but his face betrayed no hint of shock or horror. "Peter is coming after his last class. Sirius and Electra will be here later this evening. We can discuss this then with people you know."

Harry smiled weakly. "Thanks." He frowned slightly. "Peter's last class?"

"Peter is the Potions Master."

Harry's frown lines deepened. "Isn't Peter…? I mean, I thought that was Snape."

James' hazel eyes burned. "_Snape_? What would _Snape_ be doing in a _school_?"

Harry nodded. "I ask myself that every day."

James grinned at him.

"We'll talk about this later. Are you not frightened by it?"

Harry looked up at him. "By what?"

"_This_?"

Harry shook his head. "Should I be?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, all right. Don't give me the 'I'm fifteen and I'm not afraid of anything because I'm cool' routine. I'd be terrified in your position."

Harry shrugged. "Trust me, this sort of thing happens all the time. I've learned to live with it."

It was only as he heard his father descending the creaking staircase that he thought to ask why Lupin would not be joining them.


	2. Peter's Testimony

**A/N: Okay, no way was I expecting so many lovely reviews. Thank you all SO much! I doubt this will answer your questions but the next chapter should.**

**You're probably wondering why this is up so soon. Well, for the last week I have suffered terribly with insomnia and at 4am, while reading Nigella Lawson's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess', I decided I was going to bake Harry Potter Cupcakes. While I was making them, this poured out onto a sheet of greaseproof paper.**  
><strong>So now I can legitimately start work on Chapter 3 which will be up on the designated update day.<strong>  
><strong>It also means there's less pressure when I have to get my Creative Writing Portfolio in, my Journalism portfolio in, a Shakespeare essay in, and a Writer's Journal in by March. <strong>  
><strong>Mid-week updates may become something of a regularity over the coming weeks.<strong>

The smell of chicken casserole wafting through the wooden floorboards eventually coaxed Harry down into the kitchen. He had waited, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, for as long as possible before making an appearance downstairs. He never thought he would be nervous at the thought of spending time with his parents. Nor had he ever thought he would have the opportunity.

"Are you hungry?" His mother idly flicked her wand in the direction of the simmering pot atop the AGA. With her spare hand, she stroked the head of the extremely overweight ginger tomcat sitting on her lap.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Good. I've made enough to feed an army. Won't be long now. I thought we could all eat together. Your father told everyone to be here for seven." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone except Peter. We told Pete half past six. If we wanted him to be here by seven we should have told him half past four last Tuesday."

Harry attempted a smile and failed miserably. He wasn't sure he could sit down to a meal with Peter Pettigrew without Magical Law Enforcement being called in.

"Harry, is everything all right?"

He managed to nod before the clock struck seven and the door was rapped lightly. Someone was evidently punctual in the extreme. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, having had reason to believe that punctuality was not one of Peter's strong points.

"Get that for me, would you?" his mother asked, shooing the cat off her lap and rushing to the AGA.

Harry approached the front door as though approaching a dozing dragon.

The visitor knocked again. Harry was close enough to now to make out their voices.

"It was seven, wasn't it?"

"Of course it was. Look, the lights are on. They've not buggered off out for the evening."

"Would you _stop_ that language in front of the boys?"

"They've heard worse."

Sirius. Harry threw the door open and his face fell. His godfather held himself with an almost intimidating poise when stood to his full height. His hair shone black as ebony and his eyes twinkled. Harry would hardly have recognised him.

The woman who stood beside him had to be five feet and at least ten inches. It was immediately obvious that she was Cara's mother, with high cheekbones and electric blue eyes. She couldn't have weighed a great deal more than her children.

Clutched to each delicate, long fingered hand as though holding them prisoner, were two dark haired boys with toothy grins.

"Harry!" Sirius wrapped an arm around him in greeting and strolled straight past him into the kitchen as though in his own home.

Harry closed the door slowly, staring in their wake.

Electra released her vice-like grip on her sons and threw them reproachful glances. Both stood beside her, tiny creases appearing in their foreheads.

"Sorry, Lily. I couldn't leave them alone in the house."

Lily only beamed. "Oh, that's all right. There's more than enough to go round. Hello, boys."

The boys grinned back at her, their identical smiles revealing that they had even lost the same tooth. One sneezed violently.

"It's probably your cat," said Sirius. "Come here, Castor. Allergic to bloody everything, aren't you?"

"Sirius!"

The boy's eyelids had already started to swell. He made a series of miserable noises as Lily threw the cat out into the garden and Castor turned to face his father.

It seemed a fairly simple charm. After a mere flick of Sirius' wand, his breathing became steadier and his eyes a little less bloodshot.

"You could have given him an antihistamine before we left."

Sirius shrugged. "So could you."

Electra's eyes flashed dangerously. Harry privately thought he might have run as fast as possible in the opposite direction, but Sirius only grinned at her.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you're angry?"

Electra rolled her eyes and turned to Lily. "What's the matter? James said it was urgent."

"I'd better get him down here. He can explain. I still don't understand. He's probably still trying to sort his hair out."

His mother left the room and an awkward silence enveloped them. Electra cleared her throat lightly and looked out of the window. Sirius smiled at him, but Harry was too absorbed in his Peter related paranoia to notice.

It was ten minutes before his parents returned and even the young twins breathed an inward sigh of relief as the tension dissolved.

James grinned at his best friend. "All right? What are you drinking?"

Sirius laughed. "Oh, you know me. I'll have whatever you've got."

"He'll _have_ a pumpkin juice with the boys."

Sirius sighed. "I'll have a pumpkin juice, James."

Electra smiled smugly.

"And a whiskey."

She pursed her lips. "You promised me you'd try to drink a bit less."

"I _am _trying. Look at me. I'm even drinking pumpkin juice. I haven't drunk pumpkin juice since I was about sixteen."

Just as Harry was starting to think his godfather and his wife were about to have an explosive argument, he noticed the slight tilt of Electra's lips and the glint in Sirius' eyes. They thrived on this.

His parents, evidently so used to this that they ignored them, didn't seem worried by it. His father passed out glasses of amber and orange liquids. Harry accepted a tumbler and nursed it quietly, waiting for the next knock at the door and hoping he would not be sent to answer it.

"Who are we waiting on?"

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Who do you _think_ we're waiting on? Peter would be late to his own funeral."

The irony was not lost on Harry who distracted himself by watching the twins whisper to one another, their mischievous grins returning, and thinking of Fred and George. He almost wished he was back at Hogwarts, back at the Hogwarts he knew. He would have given anything to see Snape striding down the corridors, his cloak billowing behind him, rather than think of twitchy little Peter sitting at a desk in the dungeons.

"That must be him."

Harry was jolted back to the present with a horrified gasp. His mother, absorbed in the task of attempting to find eight matching bowls, evidently didn't hear him, but he glanced up from the table to find Sirius and Electra staring at him in wonder.

He couldn't say he blamed them.

His father closed the kitchen door behind him and Harry slowly looked up.

If the change in Sirius had been magnificent, Peter was unrecognizable. Harry began to think that this man was not in fact Peter Pettigrew at all. His face was still small and rat-like, but he had a mop of shaggy blonde hair and bright ice-blue eyes. His cheeks were round and rosy.

"All right, Harry?"

Harry nodded stiffly. Peter raised his eyebrows in response, but did not comment on Harry's lack of hospitality. Instead, he turned his attentions to Lily who was serving out large portions of casserole.

"Oh, are we having dinner? Fabulous. I missed it." He accepted the Butterbeer James handed to him and took the seat opposite Electra.

Harry was pleased when the bowl was placed in front of him. The snaking wisps of steam rising rapidly from it obscured Peter from view and clearly the prospect of dinner shut him up. It was easier to pretend he was absent.

Harry had never before sat down to a meal quite like this one. It was like dining with the Weasleys, but much, _much _louder. The three present Marauders laughed for almost thirty minutes straight while his mother and Electra tried to make conversation over the noise. Nor had he seen so much Butterbeer consumed in one sitting without being present at a party. Despite Peter being present, Harry didn't think he'd ever felt such a glow.

"Mum, can we have some Butterbeer?"

Electra shook her head. "Absolutely not."

The other twin gawped in indignation and pointed across the table at Harry. "Harry has it."

"Harry is almost twice your age."

"But-"

"Pollux, I am not hearing one more word on the subject."

Both Castor and Pollux sulked quietly, waiting for their mother to return to dessert and Lily's anecdote before they turned their pleas elsewhere.

Harry watched, a smile playing on his lips, as Pollux turned his wide silver eyes on Sirius who almost immediately relented and nudged his glass toward his sons.

"Hey, whoa! Not that much. A _sip_, I said."

Electra's head shot up. "You _didn't_?"

The argument that would have ensued if Lily had not stepped in and cleared away the dishes, would have been, Harry truly believed, volcanic.

When his mother returned to table, she brought with her a serious tone and a heavy atmosphere. Electra glanced toward her sons who, having eaten a little too much and thinking themselves drunk, were starting to yawn and lean on one another's shoulders.

"Maybe I should take them home," she said, smiling softly at them.

"You can't," James replied. "We need you. You'll probably know more than we do."

"James, I'm an Unspeakable. The clue is in the name."

"But-"

"We have a spare room if you want to let them sleep." Lily met her husband's eyes. He grinned back at her. "Electra, honestly, I know you can't talk about what you do, but if anyone has the answers, it'll be you."

Electra relented and woke her sons who reluctantly followed both her and Lily upstairs.

Peter turned to James. "So what's happened?"

James smiled grimly. "I think perhaps my son might be able to explain this a little better than I can."

Harry's mouth was Sahara dry. He took a deep breath, fully prepared to be laughed at. "I don't remember any of this. I have a different past. It's like a different world."

Sirius frowned. "All right, different how?"

Harry licked his dry lips. "Well, my parents were killed by Voldemort. I am the child Voldemort chose to pursue. I survived a Killing Curse and went to live with my aunt and uncle."

"So where are we then?" asked Sirius. "If your parents were killed, Harry, you'd come to me and Electra. I'd be your legal guardian."

"You'd been arrested. I've never met Electra, but when you broke out of Azkaban, she didn't meet you."

Sirius stared at him, open-mouthed. "When I broke out of _where_?"

Harry took a deep breath, already wary of his godfather's temper. "You were arrested for murder. Everyone thought you were Voldemort's spy and that you'd betrayed my parents."

Sirius shook his head violently, his lips curled into a grimace of disgust. "I would _never_-"

"I know," Harry replied. "You were framed."

Peter leaned forward. "By who?"

Harry turned to face him, relieved to have been given the opportunity. "You."

For a moment, the room was silent. Bells rang in Harry's ears.

"Why are you saying this?" Peter hissed. "What are you hoping to achieve?"

Harry leaned back in his chair. This was not the response he had been expecting.

"Peter," said James softly, "he's just-"

"It's a lie!"

Harry's hands shook. His breathing became shallow as Peter got to his feet, his hands slamming down on the oak table.

"Do you _know_ what I went through trying to protect you? Have you not _seen_ the scars? The reason he went after Neville is because I told lie after lie to save your life even when I was being tortured!"

Harry's eyes widened. "You weren't a Death Eater?"

"Of _course_ I wasn't a Death Eater!"

"Peter, he's still a child," said James, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted. "Now back the fuck down."

Peter took his seat and glowered.

James took several deep breaths and massaged his temples. "Peter, listen, it doesn't matter what you did in…in this…this '_other world_'. It matters what you did in the here and now and really, I speak for my entire family, when I say that I cannot tell you how grateful we are."

Harry averted his eyes.

"What on earth was going on down here?" Lily's 'Aunt Petunia Glare' had returned.

"Harry was just telling us about what happened to us in his…in his world." James smiled grimly. "Some of us weren't fond of what we heard."

Electra took the vacant seat beside her husband. "And what was that?"

Sirius shook his head. "You really don't want to know."

"Apparently," said Peter, tartly, "I'd betrayed you all."

Feeling as though the walls were closing in on him, Harry struggled to speak. "I know you don't believe me," he croaked, "and I'm not saying he will, but I _need_ to speak to Remus. Please can someone-?" He looked up to find five horrified faces staring at his.

"Harry-" His mother bit her lip and turned away, having no intention of finishing what she was about to say.

"What?" Harry felt shivers up his spine. "_What_?"

Sirius looked at him in a very different manner. His eyes were wide with curiosity. "He disappeared years before you were born. We'd not long left Hogwarts. We haven't seen him in seventeen years. We don't know where he is. No-one does."

Electra swallowed hard. "_I_ do."


	3. The Double Agent

**A/N: It's Thursday. And what do you do on Thursday? You upload a chapter early because you go back to university on Monday and you have to spend the rest of the week trying to write 4000 words. So no update on Sunday because I will be, no doubt, in the middle of a panic attack. This is one thing I can cross off early on my list.**

**To my anonymous reviewers, thank you.**

**Well, a lot of you have been asking about Remus and had replies directing you to Daring, Nerve and Chivalry. It was Chapter 40 I was hinting toward. In this dimension, another decision is made and…**

Bells rang in Harry's head for the second time that evening; alarm bells. Peter gawped at her, James had managed to plaster on a smile, but Sirius' glare was murderous.

"What do you mean _you_ know?"

Electra turned to face her husband. She held his eyes without flinching. "I'm his Secret Keeper."

James frowned slightly. "A Fidelius Charm? He's in hiding?" He shook his head slowly. "He's been in hiding for seventeen years?"

Electra winced. "Well…I mean…" She cleared her throat. "Seventeen years _is_ a long time. He just can't risk Voldemort finding him. Just because Neville's defeated him numerous times, it…I mean, he's never been well and truly defeated, has he? And his Death Eaters are still allowed to walk free. The things they would do…"

"This is about Voldemort?" Peter asked. "He's hiding from Voldemort? But he didn't have anything to fear."

Electra licked her lips. "True. Voldemort had reason to believe there was a double agent in his midst and-"

"Snape," said Harry. "Dumbledore's always said that he had reason to trust him and we always wondered why. Snape must have been-" He looked up to find five pairs of eyes staring at him. He slumped in his chair. "What?"

"_Snape_," replied Sirius, "is probably one of the most well guarded prisoners in Azkaban. He was Voldemort's spy, Harry. No-one's going to let him stroll around poking his abnormally large nose into our business."

Harry nodded. "I see. Right. Well…I…it makes sense."

James' frown lines deepened. "Remus? He thought Remus was…? Remus was working for Voldemort?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows and turned on his wife. "And _you're_ his Secret Keeper?"

Electra glared back at him. "For the love of Christ! _No_! Look, I can't tell you where he is. Might I use your fireplace?"

Lily, apparently too shocked to speak, nodded and pointed toward the living room across the hall. Electra disappeared through the door and the silence was heavy in her wake.

Harry glanced surreptitiously around the room, trying to catch the eyes of his loved ones. Peter glared at the tabletop. His father was running his hands though his hair, fraught with worry. Sirius paced, shaking his head and muttering to himself under his breath. His mother leaned against the sink, one hand covering her mouth.

The tension was palpable.

He sat in silence, his hands shaking with fear of the effects the chain of events he had set in motion might have on his family. So intent was he on blaming himself entirely that he missed the almighty crash that panicked his mother.

"It's all right!" he heard Electra call from the living room.

Lily hovered beside the kitchen door, wondering whether she ought to step in before anything was broken. She absentmindedly bit her nails as she peered through the glass pane in the door, an exercise that was entirely in vain as Electra had closed the sitting room door behind her.

"Who would she be talking about?" Peter asked eventually. "If it's not Remus, why would he…?" He trailed off and averted his eyes back to the table as though searching for signs in a crystal ball.

"It's _not_ Remus," Lily insisted. "Electra would have said."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Really? We've been sharing a bed for the last sixteen years. We've had three children together and she feels more loyalty toward Remus fucking Lupin than she does me. She would have said, would she?"

Harry jumped when the door opened and Electra ushered in woman who was a full head and shoulders shorter. Her chocolate coloured hair was wild and her clothes evidently thrown on hurriedly. The buttons of her green shirt did not match up. She wore only a pair of odd socks on her tiny feet. She took a deep breath and attempted a smile.

"_This_ is why I couldn't tell you," said Electra, speaking at full volume but evidently only to Sirius. "This isn't about _your _friend, it's about _mine_. I'm _Anna's_ Secret Keeper. _This_ is the double agent, working _for_ you. Remus Lupin is _not_ who I am protecting from Death Eaters, I assure you." She ended her tirade with blazing eyes and a heaving chest.

Anna Lovett, a woman Harry had only ever seen before in photographs, was not quite the person he had imagined. She shifted her weight awkwardly and wrung her hands.

"He left us to go off with _you_ after everything you did to him?"

Harry privately thought that Peter had absolutely no right to talk about Lupin's rash decisions based on the manner in which people had treated him, but expecting another outburst, kept his mouth shut.

Anna stepped backwards toward the door, but she could not struggle free of Electra's firm grip around her wrist.

"He's a good man," she answered, holding her head high. "He has principles."

"There's principles," said Sirius, "and then there's sheer madness. So he's given up his entire life to spend it in hiding with you?"

Anna met his eyes. "And what's so hard to believe about that?"

"You _broke_ him! You tore him apart, you evil bitch! How the hell do principles come into that? Was he going to teach you some?"

Electra released her best friend and took a seat, her eyes blazing with fury.

Anna bit her lip. "I…We have…The following May I…"

"Where _is_ Remus, in fact?"

Anna raised her eyebrows. "I haven't buried him in the cellar."

Sirius glared at her. "So where is he then?"

"He's explaining our absence to our son." She smiled smugly, triumphantly, as her audience, with the exception of Electra, gave a collective gasp. "He'll have the pleasure of your company shortly."

Whole minutes passed in silence before Lily turned to the guest in her home and attempted conversation.

"Your son?"

Anna smiled shyly at her. "John. I…when Remus left, I was three months pregnant. That's why he came with me."

Sirius scoffed. "So there's not even definite proof that it's his. That must be nice for him."

Anna shrugged. "If you think he's Mulciber's, you'll have your own explanation for the fact that he's the spitting image of Remus."

"So," Lily aimed her shrewd gaze toward her, "just what happened? Why are you in hiding?"

Sirius clasped his hands together and leaned forward at the table, aiming a false beaming smile at her. "Oh, yes, _do _tell us. I'm sure it's fascinating."

Electra glowered at him.

The door opened a crack and Harry broke into a beaming smile at the sight of a tawny haired, prematurely graying head behind it.

The room fell into silence. In different circumstances, after their raucous laughter at dinner, Harry might have been glad of the peace and quiet.

Lupin closed the door behind him and winced. He attempted a small smile and, realising the awkward silence was entirely his fault, eventually said, "Would anyone like some tea?"

Sirius gawped at him. "Really? After seventeen years, 'Would you like some tea?'. It's not even your house."

Lupin shrugged. "What would you have me say? I can comment on your hairstyle if you'd like."

James laughed. "It _is_ pretty awful."

Sirius reached for his shoulder length hair and pinned it back. "I've had it for years."

Lupin nodded. "Yeah. It was cool when you were sixteen."

James raised his eyebrows. "Not even then."

Sirius' eyes darted from one to the other. "I don't believe this. He's not been back two minutes and you've already started on me."

Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief. The Lupin who co-existed with his friends was still able to diffuse the tension in a room within minutes of walking into it. He had a feeling this would make the inevitable conversation infinitely easier.

Lily, with a roll of her eyes, turned to the kettle and began to assemble seven cups and saucers.

"Are you not going to elaborate on _why_ you've been gone for seventeen years?" asked Peter, his eyebrows raised so high that they were hidden by his fringe.

Lupin licked his lips and addressed the floor. "Do you remember a night that November when you sent me to spy on a Russian man - something about the Resurrection Stone?"

James nodded. "Alexandrov."

"Yes, that's right. I was sat in his house waiting for him. I closed the door behind me and felt eyes baring into the back of my head, so I lit my wand and there she was." He smiled at Anna. "Voldemort had sent her to spy on me. She made her position obvious and was willing to share everything Voldemort knew about Alexandrov. Before I ran, I gave this information to Dumbledore. I did my job."

Sirius nodded. "There's just one thing I don't understand."

Lupin nodded. "Okay, what is it?"

"_Why_?"

Lupin threw him a pitying glance. "Have you no idea what Voldemort does to traitors? Besides, even if she hadn't been discovered, do you think Mulciber would have raised a child that was quite plainly mine? The child's appearance alone would have betrayed her. It's one thing to trail a spy, it's quite another to come back bearing his child, don't you think?" He blinked furiously, shocking himself with the sharpness of his tone. He cleared his throat. "So I didn't wait for Alexandrov. We ran. I convinced her to leave with me and took her somewhere no-one would find us." He sighed softly. "It was probably for the best. I heard Voldemort set the house alight later that evening."

Sirius nodded stoically. "I went looking for you," he croaked. "I went to find a body or a message or something to identify you." He slowly got to his feet and made toward Lupin. "For the past seventeen years, I thought you were dead, you son of a bitch." He flung his arms around Lupin. "And now I know you're alive and well, I'm going to fucking kill you."

"So you ran?" asked Peter. "Ran where?"

"I had no choice." Lupin shook his head. "And I can't tell you where I went. It would somewhat defeat the object. We've had to hide ourselves. My son has had to miss out on attending school. We've had to live off my mother's generosity and Anna's inheritance. I can't waste that sacrifice." He stepped back toward the door. "Nor should I leave him alone. I think it's a safe place. I don't think anyone would look for us there, but there will come a time when the Death Eaters have exhausted all other options and they'll come looking for her."

"But they won't be able to find you," said James. "Not unless Electra tells them."

"Which I won't," she interjected.

"Do you not think," said Peter, "that seventeen years is a very long time to bear a grudge? Does he really care all that much?"

Lupin turned to face him. "Well, considering the last time he had an _inkling _she might be a double agent he tried to burn her alive, I think that with definitive proof and no stone, he might be a little more put out than you'd think."

Harry nodded. "From what I know of Voldemort, if he sees you as a threat, he won't stop until he obliterates you."

Lupin smiled grimly. "Well, quite." Turning to Anna, he said, "I should stay. Please go back to John."

Anna pursed her lips, evidently displeased with this course of action, but she nodded sharply and immediately Disapparated.

"Can't people watch the Floo Network?" Harry asked, thinking of Umbridge who was probably sitting in her office at this moment demanding to know where he was.

Electra nodded. "Only the Ministry. Though I'll admit there are quite a few employees of dubious loyalty, and for that reason, only I have used the Floo Network this evening. Have you never seen someone put only their head into the flames?"

Harry nodded, his subconscious glance toward Sirius making the latter very uneasy.

"Well, I did just that. I asked for the boy's mother and asked her, with his father, to Apparate here because of a crisis, which could, for all the Ministry knows, be a result of the cat giving birth."

James eyed the ginger lump sitting on the windowsill and indicating that it wished to be let in. "Have you seen the size of her? That's a hell of a lot of kittens for me to drown."

Passing round cups of sweet tea, Lily slapped her husband's shoulder.

"Ow! You know I didn't mean it."

She ignored him and handed a cup to Lupin who had not moved from the door. "Please have a seat, Remus. You're making the place look untidy."

"You're not angry with me?" His long fingers fiddled frantically with the stitching on the sleeves of his jumper.

Her wide smile reassured him and Lupin took the vacant seat at the end of the table beside Peter. He sipped his tea quietly, his eyes focused on the tabletop.

Harry frowned slightly and inwardly asked himself how he was going to phrase his next question. It was not a subject that the Lupin he knew was overly fond of and nor was it a polite question to aim at a man he was meeting allegedly for the first time. He bit his lip and decided he would just have to come out with it.

"What is this crisis of yours anyway?" Lupin asked James. He directed his question into his teacup, his voice small and unassuming.

James offered him a half-smile. "Well, it's not my cat. It's my son."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Your son is about to give birth to a litter of kittens?"

"No, but as weird things go, it's probably on the same level."

Lupin raised his head and watched Harry squirm at the thought of explaining his predicament to a rational and logical man who would surely laugh in his face.

"What's the matter? What is it?"

Harry clasped his hands together, conscious of their constant light tapping on the table. "Look, I know you're going to think I've lost my mind."

"Not at all."

Harry managed a weak smile. "So if you've been hiding from Voldemort, you didn't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts two years ago?"

Lupin took a sip of tea. "Not that I know of, no, but strange things do tend to happen to me when the sun sets. Perhaps sleep-teaching is a new side-effect."

Harry laughed nervously. "Yes. Speaking of when the sun sets, are you…er…a…I mean, do you suffer from-"

"-from Lycanthropy?" Lupin smiled grimly. "Yes."

James met Lupin's eyes. "You see? How would he know this? Harry seems to think things which couldn't be further from the truth, actually happened to him. I know there's little logic to the idea, but I'm inclined to believe him."

Peter froze. "You're not serious?"

Lupin frowned slightly and glanced back toward Harry. "Well, I wouldn't say it was up there with him giving birth to a litter of kittens, but it _is_ strange." He idly tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "In fact, there just might be a perfectly reasonable explanation." His charcoal coloured eyes glinted. "Tell me everything."

Harry beamed. Laughing with relief, he began to recall incidents from his childhood with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sitting beside his father, surrounded by the friends who had not betrayed him, watching his slightly over-protective mother grit her teeth at the mere mention of Marge's name, he found himself able to laugh about things that he would never have thought funny; Ripper keeping him up a tree for an entire day, Dudley bullying him constantly for eleven years, even the conversation he had had with a Boa Constrictor and subsequent weeks spent under the stairs.

"I see," said Lupin gravely, when Harry's tale had come to its end.

"What are you thinking?" Lily asked, taking the seat beside her son.

"_Well_," answered Lupin, as though this was a story worth telling, "I haven't the faintest clue. Several things. I'm wondering how this could have happened and whether this is what I think it is." He blew the air out his cheeks. "This might just be an application of Newton's Third Law."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "And, pray tell, what's that when it's at home?"

"For every action," said Lupin, "there is an equal and opposite reaction."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that for every decision made, the opposite is played out in another reality. In this case, we see Voldemort's decision to eliminate Neville Longbottom."

"And _why_?" snapped Peter. "Because I-"

James waved his protestations off. "We know, Peter."

Harry frowned deeply. "So you're still a werewolf?"

Lupin nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Though according to this theory, in another reality, there is a Remus Lupin who is the absolute picture of health."

"But none of you are Animagii?"

Lupin shook his head. "I wouldn't let them do it. It was too dangerous."

Sirius sighed irritably.

Lupin rolled his eyes and broke out into a rare genuine smile. "Yes, I'm sure you _could_ have done it in your sleep, but it was still illegal. Do you even know the penalty? You'd have had so many years in Azkaban, you'd have forgotten what daylight looked like."

Harry turned to face Peter whose nostrils flared unbecomingly. "Then the only reason you didn't reveal my parents' location was because you couldn't see a way to get away with it. _That's_ why he went after Neville. You wouldn't die for his parents just like you wouldn't die for mine!"

"You know," snapped Peter, "some people might be grateful." He got to his feet. "And for your information, I didn't give Voldemort the Longbottoms' location. I don't know who did, but he didn't torture it out of _me_." He composed himself and turned to Lily. "Thank you for dinner. It was lovely. Sorry to leave you but it's obvious that even if I can provide you with help, it's not going to be accepted. I have an early start tomorrow and it's getting late. Goodnight." He threw Harry a filthy glare and Apparated on the spot.

Harry had the feeling that when he was sent back to school, Peter's Potions lessons were about to get ten times worse than Snape's had ever been.


	4. The Scientific Diagnosis

**A/N: Hello again. Sunday update as promised. Thanks again, everyone. This is filler, yeah. Besides, a couple of you have been asking after him, so heeeere's Johnny. You know, after writing this, I went back and read Chapter 40 and I genuinely didn't know how to feel.**

It was a sleepless night. Harry lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the blustering winter winds curling around the ivy that clung to the wall outside his window and crashing into the pane.

He glanced at the clock above the pine desk positioned in front of his window. Three o'clock. His parents' voices had drifted across the landing an hour ago, informing him that they were going to bed. He could still hear the faint humming of Sirius, Electra, and Lupin's conversation in the kitchen, directly beneath his bedroom, but though he listened hard, he could not discern their words.

He sighed heavily. They were down there making plans to send him back to Voldemort. He couldn't sleep. He had to savour every moment in this world, but sleep caught up with him all the same. He wasn't sure what time he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them, Harry found brilliant sunlight streaming through his open window, and two flawless alabaster-skinned faces peering down at him from atop his bed.

"Is he awake, Pol?"

Harry jumped and sat up, rumpling the sheets beneath him as he shuffled toward the headboard.

Pollux Black turned to his brother. "Yep."

Harry took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "Your sister did this. Is it a gene you've inherited?"

Castor and Pollux grinned at him. Harry had never met boys he could legitimately describe as 'pretty' before, but as they widened their silver eyes and batted their eyelashes at him, he considered it an achievement not to have been hypnotised by their beauty.

"We need your help," said the twin on the left; the twin Harry took to be Castor.

Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. No child of Sirius was likely to want his help doing something legal. "With what?"

"We want to go Dimension Jumping."

"You heard about that?"

Pollux nodded vigorously. "Mum said we had to go to bed so we asked Dad about it."

"And what did he tell you?"

"That you were from another world. We said you were from another planet."

"Mars," said Castor.

Pollux frowned. "Jupiter. We agreed it was Jupiter."

"Jupiter doesn't have any water, stupid!"

"You don't _need_ water if you've got chocolate milk! Who drinks water anyway? No-one. Exactly."

"And it's too big for people to live on!"

"No it's not!"

A sharp and persistent knocking on Harry's door silenced them. They gasped and frantically searched for a place to hide or a portkey to the spare room.

"Harry? Can I come in?"

Castor and Pollux shook their heads.

"Um…" Harry replied, unsure how to go about refusing entry to his godfather. He couldn't play the 'I'm changing' trump-card and had never before spent time with an authority figure who _wanted_ to come into his room.

From behind the door, Sirius sighed irritably. "Boys, you have exactly ten seconds to come out of there before I tell your mother you're harassing an invalid. Ten…nine…eight.-"

The twins practiced their best smiles, nodded their approval to one another and flung open the door.

"Good morning, Dad."

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"We didn't think you'd be awake yet, did we, Castor?"

"No, Pollux, we didn't."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Drop the act. Harry is here to recuperate. Out." He closed the door behind them and placed the mug he had been carrying on Harry's bedside table. "Try to rest today. Your dad wants to see you when he gets home from work. He's asked Dumbledore to come to dinner."

Harry wondered if his father solved all his problems by arguing over casserole, but said nothing on the subject.

"For now, I think maybe you should just rest. You've taken a pretty bad blow to the head."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't. I was at a match. Today should be Sunday. I just blacked out and woke up here. I didn't take a blow to the head. My head is fine. Physically, it's never been better."

Sirius frowned. "Well, today is Monday. If the twins bother you, Remus is downstairs. They shouldn't even come up here. He's going to keep them entertained with stories about his weirdy creatures. I'll see you when I get back."

Harry waited for the stairs to creak before he got out of bed and sat at the desk opposite the window. He had dreamed of this for as long as he had been able to understand what had happened and now that he was here, he wasn't sure what he wanted. He wanted his parents. That was it. He didn't want to meet Sirius' children. He didn't want Lupin to be in hiding and worrying about a son. He certainly didn't want Peter around. Did he still have Ron and Hermione? Did he have any friends at all?

He picked up one of the books on his shelf and scanned through it. He wasn't quite sure what the world had come to when he was sat at a desk in his bedroom reading _Hogwarts: A History_, but at least turning page after page gave him a purpose.

Three quarters of a chapter later, there came a light tapping on his door.

"Yeah?"

There was no answer.

"Hello?"

Still nothing. Harry sighed irritably and pulled himself out of his chair with great reluctance. He flung open the door and attempted a smile.

The boy who had broken him out of a prison made of self-loathing and boredom, was taller than him. He had a mop of chocolate brown hair in tight curls that sprung from his scalp in all directions. His clothes were old and worn, but comfortable. He wore a blue cardigan and a pair of dark brown corduroys. On his feet were a pair of green woolen socks. His eyes, though downcast, Harry could see, were the same shade of brown as his hair. His eyelashes cast spider web shadows on his pale and slightly freckled cheeks.

"Hello," he said, addressing his socks. "My Dad sent me up to see you. He says I'm not to be in the house alone. God knows what he thinks I'll do to it." He had managed to coax a smile out of Harry and, encouraged, held out his hand. "I'm John."

"I'm Harry."

Now that his face was at eye-level and caught by the winter sunlight, Harry could see that Anna had not lied. His hair and eyes were hers, but he was tall and thin with a shy smile and long fingers. There was a quiet confidence about him and Harry had the distinct feeling that for the first time in his life, he was dealing with a teenage Marauder.

"Yeah. I know."

"Come in."

John waited for him to close the door behind them and stood beside the wardrobe with his hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan.

"Do you want to sit down?" asked Harry, gesturing toward the chair.

John immediately obeyed and glanced around the room from a new vantage point.

"You have a very big bedroom."

Harry nodded. "I know. Compared to the one I'm used to, this is huge."

John grinned. "Oh yeah. You're the Dimension Jumper." He made it sound like a profession. He sat with his hands in his lap. "What's it like in your world?"

Harry shook his head. "It's horrible."

John nodded. "My Dad told me about a bit about it." He smiled sadly. "I think it's a shame he didn't get to teach. He's a brilliant teacher, my Dad. He taught me _everything_."

Harry dreaded to think.

"Except Potions," said John with a shrug. "I still can't brew a potion to save my life. Nor can my parents. I blame poor genes."

Harry sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm not sure what I'm good at. I'm pretty good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, but that's it really. I can fly and I'm not bad at Transfiguration, but I think McGonagall might have been trying to be nice to me." He nodded. "I'm average, I think. One of my best friends is the best in our year. She reads entire textbooks in a night and draws up revision timetables."

John smiled guiltily. "I do that. Though I tend to spend more time colour-coding than actually revising. By the time I'm done with my timetable, I'm sitting the exam. It drives my father up the wall."

Harry frowned. "Aren't you in hiding?"

John nodded. "Oh yeah. I mean, of course. My Mum is Voldemort's Most Wanted. Well…after Neville Longbottom."

Unsure which of his questions he wanted answered first, Harry frowned. He settled on finishing his first enquiry. "So how do you sit exams?"

"My parents asked Dumbledore to send my O.W.L. papers. He watched me finish them and then he took them off with him. He brought my results at the end of that summer. That's probably how my N.E.W.T. exams are going to go too." Behind the falsely chipper tone lay a reason for John's shy smile and social awkwardness. Harry hurriedly changed the subject.

"So what exactly did your Mum do?"

John laughed. "Shagged a werewolf and cheated on her Death Eater husband. Wouldn't you leg it?" His smile twisted into a smirk. "She's still married to him."

Harry gawped.

"What were you, a goldfish in another life?" John sighed. "She told my Dad everything about Voldemort and what he was planning. Dad was Dumbledore's spy. Voldemort nearly lost everything because of her. She had to run. She had no choice. There's no reason to kill her anymore, but he'll probably want revenge. Dad worries they'll make an example of her." His tone was blasé and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"How can you talk like that?"

John laughed bitterly. "This is my life. I don't know any different. If it was sprung on me an hour ago, I'd be horrified, but it wasn't and I'm not." He blushed. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I…"

John held up a hand. "Don't tell me you understand. You don't. You really don't."

Harry, remembering being made to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs and Aunt Petunia cutting his hair and dying Dudley's clothes grey, thought that he did.

"Is this how I would have lived?" he asked. "If Voldemort hadn't found my parents, this is how I would have spent my life, is it?"

John shrugged. "But he _did_."

He had clearly not inherited his father's tact, but Harry liked him.

"What happened anyway?" asked John.

Harry shrugged. "I'm just as clueless as you. I just woke up here."

John frowned. "So where you come from, you're the Chosen One?"

Harry nodded.

"And the you from this dimension is a little nobody who's only really any good at Quidditch."

Harry thought this was a little below the belt, but said nothing. John Lupin seemed to think he was onto something.

"And the fact that there are two Chosen Ones in a world where Voldemort is almost defeated anyway, and two little nobodies who are only good with Snitches and plants in a world where he's growing stronger by the day, hasn't occurred to anyone as odd, has it?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"To put it scientifically," said John, "you're fucked."


	5. Crookshanks' Prey

**A/N: Would you like the truth? I just remembered it's Sunday and I'm still drunk.**

Having assured Albus Dumbledore that he was fit and well, Harry was sent back to school the following day. The Christmas holidays were fast approaching and the Great Hall was filled with Christmas trees reaching over twelve feet, white candles, and snowflakes drifting from the charmed ceiling down to the tables where they vanished.

"Oh you're back then?" Cara downed a goblet of pumpkin juice. She smiled at him. "So you're feeling better?"

Harry nodded. "How are you?"

Cara groaned. "Ugh. Hungover as hell."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "On a Thursday?"

Cara shrugged.

"You're fourteen!"

"Oh I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't know you'd done a body swap." Cara rolled her eyes. "We had a party for my friend's birthday so…" She poured herself another pumpkin juice and sipped it slowly. "Oh and I need the Map on Saturday."

Harry frowned deeply. "No. No-one else uses the Map. I _never_ lend it out."

Cara sighed. "Why? What makes you think you suddenly have more of a right than me?"

Harry stammered, "Er…well, I mean…I'm er…I'm Prongs'-"

"And I'm Padfoot's." Cara beamed. "I'll come for it Saturday afternoon. Have a nice day."

Her vacated seat was immediately snatched by Hermione. "How are you feeling?"

Harry grinned at her, relieved at the sense of familiarity she brought with her. Her hair was still frizzy, her teeth were still a little too large for her mouth, and her smile was still reluctant.

"Fine."

She beamed. "Good. I'm so glad you're back. I'm being driven round the bend." She shook her head. "Ron's still not speaking to me. Do you think you could have a word - make him see sense or something?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "And what is it this time?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "He's taken against Crookshanks. He says he's a murdering monster."

"Why?" Harry made himself a bacon sandwich. "What's he done?"

"_Nothing_!" snapped Hermione. "He's not done anything wrong!" She sighed. "Sorry. While you were at home, he found a mouse or something. He saved it from Mrs. Norris to spite her and took a shine to it. Now it's gone, he's blaming Crookshanks. It's ridiculous. It's a wild mouse. It's probably run away. If anything's eaten it, it'll be Mrs. Norris."

Harry frowned. "When was this?"

"Saturday afternoon. It was gone by the Sunday evening so it has to have been eaten by my-"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I got that bit."

"I ask you," said Hermione, clicking her tongue. "If he wanted to keep it as a pet, he ought to have taken more care of it." She smiled sadly. "Still, he's never had a pet. I don't suppose I blame him for getting attached to it." For a moment, Harry thought she was going to break and apologise, but she poured milk on her cereal and added, "Still, it's not fair to blame Crookshanks."

"Where _is_ Ron anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably somewhere writing a Requiem for it." She glanced at Harry's uneaten sandwich. "Hurry up. We have Double Potions in ten minutes."

Harry abandoned his breakfast and rested his head in his arms.

"I know how you feel," said Hermione. "Professor Pettigrew's lessons have been going downhill lately. He's usually brilliant. I mean, he still _is_, but he's…"

"Got preachy," said Ron, taking the seat beside Harry. "We used to make potions and now we copy out. He talks too much these days."

Hermione shook her head disparagingly. "Come on, Harry, if you're not going to eat that. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Harry shivered as they made their way to the Dungeons. He was not anticipating Peter's lessons.<p>

"Harry!" Peter called him away almost immediately. "Could I see you for a moment?" He didn't wait for an answer before turning to his class. "Page 112." He led the way into his office.

Peter's classroom was exactly the same as Snape had kept his - perhaps a little less organised, but Harry privately thought that Snape had a compulsion for neatness and order.

Peter's office was homely. A fire roared in the grate, photographs of his loved ones hung on the walls, and papers littered his desk.

"Have a seat," he said, his tone a little too frosty for Harry to be comfortable as he sat opposite his professor's desk. "Now, you've missed two of my lessons this week." Peter winced. "_Three_ actually. There's one going on now."

Harry glared. "I've got the book. I've not missed anything."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "No? Was that an attempt at defiance, Potter?" He smiled. "It wasn't half bad."

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat, unsure that he liked his new Potions professor. _This _Peter had not betrayed his parents, but he behaved oddly and his moodswings were becoming more and more frequent. If he'd said that to Snape, he would probably be spending the rest of his schooldays in detention, but at least, thought Harry, you knew where you were with Snape.

"No, Sir, it wasn't. Sorry, Sir."

Peter cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. "All right, well, we'll make sure that you catch up then, won't we?" His smile was strained and Harry nodded in return before hurrying to his seat between Ron and Hermione, who, in his absence, had resumed their squabbling whispers.

"He wasn't a pet, Ronald. He was a pest."

"I saved him only for you to lead him to the jaws of death."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Ron." She hissed under her breath and returned to the passage she was copying out.

The Christmas holidays couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

><p>When Harry had been told they would be spending Christmas with the Blacks, he had shuddered at the memory of Mrs. Black's portrait and the House Elf heads mounted on the wall. He sincerely hoped Sirius' <em>live<em> House Elf would also be missing the holiday, but he knew it was foolish to hope.

Grimmauld Place was not the house he remembered. The floor had been carpeted, the walls painted crimson, and Mrs. Black's screeches were heard faintly from several floors above.

"Where's-?"

"She was frightening the boys," said Sirius. "And _me_ actually. So we put her in the attic."

Cara grinned. "Not before she taught me to swear."

"My poor, poor mistress."

Electra's ice-blue-eyed stare silenced Kreacher. "I'm sorry, _who_ is your mistress?"

Kreacher stalked off, muttering to himself. Harry grinned, never believing he would be glad to see the miserable Elf.

"Cara, take your things upstairs."

Cara, outraged, only gawped at her mother. "Mum, that's why we have a House Elf!"

Sirius watched him hiss and turned to his daughter. "Have you seen the mood he's in? You want to hand your stuff over to him? I know I bloody well wouldn't."

Cara sighed irritably and heaved her trunk up the stairs.

Electra pursed her lips. "I'm not sure about this 'My mother taught it to her' story."

Sirius shrugged. "Neither am I. We'll never know." He offered her a half-hearted winning smile and followed Kreacher into his Cupboard of Despair.

* * *

><p>"Er…who are <em>you<em>?"

John got to his feet and held out his hand. "Hello. I'm…" He licked his lips and averted his chocolate coloured eyes. "I'm John."

Cara beamed. "You have lovely eyes, John."

He blushed furiously. "Thank you…um…?"

"Cara," she replied, shaking his hand. "My name is Cara."

"Hello, Cara."

Harry watched from the doorway and rolled his eyes.


	6. Dimension Jumping

**A/N: A week late because I now have a journalistic commitment on Sundays. Excuse me a moment. Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! *Clears throat* But I'm back now.**

**A/N: This is a little weird. Stick with me. This **_**is **_**going somewhere.**

Peter Pettigrew descended the steps of Malfoy Manor. His bright blonde hair had begun to fade to a colourless hue, his ice-blue eyes lost their sparkle. He hobbled toward the holding cell hidden beneath the seemingly innocent drawing room.

The room was in complete darkness. He listened for the small rasping breath in the corner of the room.

"Peter?" he called. "Stay back, Peter!" He lit his wand and gasped in horror. The room was empty. "All right, I don't know _what_ you've-" A shiver ran down his spine as a pair of eyes seemed to burn holes in the back of his head. "Get in front of me."

"When are you going to let me go?"

"Get in front of me!"

Peter Pettigrew sighed and held his arms out toward his captor. "I just want to know what-" He winced as Peter seized a small handful of pale blonde hairs and yanked as hard as he could. "Fuck _off_!"

Peter smiled sarcastically. "If you'd let me cut it, we wouldn't have to go through this rigmarole every visit, would we."

His other self narrowed his eyes. "What do you want with me?"

Peter sat on the stone steps. "Information, hair, the opportunity to talk to your friends - _our_ friends."

Peter Pettigrew grinned. "So you're jealous. How interesting."

"I am _not_ jealous of you. Who are you anyway? You're a nothing, a nobody. They still bully you senseless and you do nothing about it. Coward!"

Peter offered him a half-smile, his eyes shining with a foreign emotion. "Who are _you_, Peter? You're the servant of Lord Voldemort."

Peter shivered.

"You know what you are. You're a dogsbody. You're nothing to these people. You've been nothing all your miserable little life, you sad son of a bitch." The steely expression in his eyes softened. "Maybe being the bigger man is _not_ doing it. Maybe being the bigger man is refusing Voldemort when he comes for you. I'm not saying it's a barrel of laughs because it's not. Some of the scars still hurt even now, but I am _everything_ to James."

Peter curled his upper lip into a snarling smirk. "You're not '_everything_' to James at all. It's still Sirius. It always was."

Peter shrugged. "The difference between you and I is that I've accepted it. Maybe that's why I can see a difference in the way he treats me." He smiled smugly. "Maybe because I'm _not_ a coward."

Peter pointed his wand at him. "Do _not_ tell me how to feel."

Peter shrugged. "I'm not. I'm just pointing out that-"

"Well don't or I'll…I'll…"

Peter raised his eyebrow. "Oh put that thing down. You're embarrassing yourself. We both know you're shit with it."

"I could have you boiled in oil if I fancied it," snapped Peter.

His counterpart smiled serenely. "And what would you do when your supply of my hair ran low?"

Pettigrew hissed a string of profanities. "Shut up. I'm not here to discuss this with you."

"Then why _are_ you here?" Peter eyed him shrewdly. "What do you really want from me? Other than my hair."

Peter sighed irritably. "Remus' child-"

Peter's eyes widened. "Remus has a child?" He grinned. "I knew it! I bloody _knew_ there was something going on between them. What is it?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "A boy. John."

"I could have guessed what he'd call him." Peter's mood had vastly improved. "What's he like? Does he look like Remus? I think he might. He's got some pretty dominant looking bone structure, but Cost-"

Peter cleared his throat. "He's been watching me. Why?"

His counterpart shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I'm not there, am I."

Peter glared at him. "You know these people better than I do. What might Lupin have said to the boy? What would make him look at me the way he does?"

Peter smiled. "Is his mother who I think she is?"

"His mother is Anna Lovett."

Peter's mouth dropped open. "Oh. I see."

"Who did you think it was?"

Peter shook his head. "I thought it was Costello."

"What difference would that make?" Peter narrowed his eyes. "I can jump dimensions. I can find the child of Remus Lupin and Gemini Costello. What difference would it make?"

Peter shrugged. "I just thought it would account for intuition. If his mother is Anna Lovett, you don't have a hope in hell." He grinned. "That's more than intuition. Don't you remember? Anna Lovett reads the future." He laughed. "He's reading you, Peter. Oh, this is priceless."

The other Peter Pettigrew did not agree. His face remained stony and impassive. "Let me tell you this; if he finds out who I am and what I'm doing there, I have no need of your hair. If they find out who I am, I can do what I want with you."

"So you expect me to help you?" Peter laughed sarcastically. "This is rich. You're the man who killed two of my dearest friends, framed another, and made the fourth live in misery for years. Peter, I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire."

"I don't expect you to help me. I don't want or need your help now I know about the boy. Problem solved." He turned toward the door, muttering to himself.

* * *

><p>"Go on!" cried Cara, her electric blue eyes wide and sparkling with a dangerous mix of hope and mischief.<p>

Harry shook his head. He was sitting in Cara's bright orange bedroom. The tangerine bedsheets clashed ludicrously with his green t-shirt.

"Harry, don't be such a girl," she added, disparagingly.

Her room was a large rectangular space which Harry knew had belonged, in his world, to Buckbeak. Her obscenely large bed took up most of the room, but Harry could make out the outline of a racing broom leaning against her wardrobe and a small, largely empty, bookshelf beside the door. She had pinned a crimson and gold scarf to the back of the door.

The windows looked out onto the snow covered streets of Muggle Islington. Fairy lights twinkled merrily outside, providing the only light in the room. Cara obviously believed this to be some sort of Séance.

"Cara, I don't want to know."

She rolled her eyes. He had ruined her fun. "I'll do it then." She stretched out her arm and placed her palm in John's. He frowned ever so slightly and turned it over.

"You have very delicate hands," he murmured.

"What does that mean?"

John smiled at her. "That you're an aristocrat." He tossed back an unruly curl that always fell in his eyes. "All right," he said, his thumb tracing the lines on her palms, "this one is your Lifeline. It's um…it's quite short."

Cara snatched her hand back. "How short is 'quite short'?"

John shrugged. "Well, if it ends about an inch before your wrist, you'll live for about seventy years. Yours looks like it ends at about sixty. It's shorter than average, but not a short life." He blinked and averted his eyes. "If this freaks you out a bit, you don't have to do it."

Cara handed her palm back. "Sorry."

"It's deep which means you're not easily influenced by others. This one here," he traced a thin line swooping around her thumb, "means that you have enthusiasm, great strength, and an interesting love life."

Cara giggled. "Oh good."

"Your Headline and your Lifeline are joined at the start so your head often rules you, but they separate so that means you have a love of adventure. Your Loveline starts between your index and middle fingers so you'll have a content relationship, but-"

"Only one?"

He met her wide eyes. "How many long-lasting and content relationships do you need?" The beginnings of a smile were evident at the slight curve of his lips. He turned his attentions back to her hand. "But you've a tendency to give your heart away too easily."

Cara laughed. "Maybe."

"No health line so you shouldn't have any problems there." His fingers were darting along the lines of her hand. "Your fate line is very interesting. You know very well what you want and you will succeed at everything you turn your hand to."

Cara raised her eyebrows. "I'm shit at Charms though."

John grinned. "What a coincidence. It's one of my best subjects."

Harry rolled his eyes.

John pointed to her little finger. "Several thin lines here mean lots of romances."

"Do I have a marriage line?"

"Yeah. It breaks so that means a separation, but you'll work it out because it joins up shortly afterwards."

Cara grinned. "Is this one of those 'Anything I set my mind to' things?"

John shrugged. "Very possibly." He squinted. "Two children. I can't work out their sex. Cara, can we have some lights on? I can barely see."

Harry heartily agreed and lit four candles.

John smiled at him. "Cheers." His eyes returned to Cara's finger. "Two boys."

Cara beamed. "Wow. Isn't this wicked, Harry?"

Harry made a noncommittal sound.

"Your Moneyline indicates inheritance and family allowance." John raised his eyebrows and smiled good-naturedly. "Surprise, surprise." He blushed furiously. "This is called the Sexline. Yours indicates dominance and generosity, a warm heart and a need for physical expression."

Cara smirked. "Are you blushing, Mr. Lupin?"

"No. Of course not. I just…I thought I might be speaking out of turn." He cleared his throat. "You er…you have a pointed hand. It has a lot of sharp curves. It means you appreciate beauty. You're a thinker, not a doer." He took hold of her fingers. "Let me see. Right. Well, you're involved in art because your ring finger and your middle finger stick close together. You have an independent mind because your little finger is so far away from the rest of your fingers. See the gap? It's not big, but it's noticeable. Your knuckles are very smooth so you're impulsive. Your fingers are straight so you're honest and clear-minded. You have wide nails so you're argumentative, but they're long so you're assertive." He smiled. "That's about it."

Cara glowed with pleasure and turned to Harry. "There. You see? There's nothing frightening in it."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That's the thing about Palmistry, Cara. It sort of depends on no two hands being the same. Mine is going to be terrifying."

John grinned. "Probably, but isn't that what makes life interesting? I think I'd rather not know too."

* * *

><p>Peter nodded once in greeting as Harry was forced to take the seat opposite him at the dinner table. Harry nodded stiffly in return.<p>

"John read my palm today," said Cara, serving herself a second-helping of mashed potato. "He was awfully good, wasn't he, Harry?"

"Oh yeah. He was brilliant."

John shook a full head of curls into his face and appeared to become suddenly interested in his plate. His face was crimson.

"No, I was-"

He was cut off by a click of Cara's tongue. "You knew everything about me from the shape of my fingers. You were _ace_ and you know it."

Lupin beamed. "You get that from your mum then. How long have you been able to do that?"

John squeezed his shoulders together and shrugged, his eyes still firmly fixed on the table. "Ages."

Peter eyed him shrewdly across the table. "Maybe you could read mine sometime. I was pretty good at Divination too."

John coughed lightly. "No thank you. I don't want to make a thing of it."

Cara bit her lip. "I'm sorry, John."

"No, it's okay." He looked up and met his father's eyes, a look of sheer desperation in his own.

Peter watched in terrified silence.


	7. Battle of Wills

**A/N: I work in a stadium for the 6 Nations so that's why I've missed a couple of Sundays now and my column goes up on Sundays too so it's a bit of a mad day really. Apologies and thanks for sticking with me.**

"I don't know what I want." Harry sighed and pushed his fringe back. "I miss my friends and I imagine that wherever he is, your son misses his and misses you. I just don't want to go back, but I do. I know I'm not making any sense, but-"

"Drink up," said his mother, handing him a cup of sweet tea. "It really does help." She smiled sadly. "I don't like to think of you going back there, but you're prepared for it and Harry, _my_ Harry, isn't. Please don't think I want this for you, but I can't send my little boy like a lamb to the slaughter."

Harry shook his head. "I don't. I get it. He's your son. I'm just the stranger who looks like him." He pressed his lips together. "Thanks for the tea." He did not take so much as a sip before he got to his feet and walked out into the little village.

He trudged through the snow, shivering and wishing he had brought one of their Harry's coats. Finding a rickety bench opposite the church, he brushed it dry and sat staring at the stained glass windows.

He'd always felt that he didn't belong. When he was a child, he didn't belong with the Dursleys, he didn't belong in their world. He'd always believed he belonged in Godric's Hollow with his parents, and now that he was here, he found that he didn't belong here either.

* * *

><p>"I just want to go out."<p>

Anna Lovett peered out of the kitchen window. Inside, the Christmas lights twinkled over the AGA, over which her ex-boyfriend and housemate slaved. The house smelled of Christmas cake. Outside, the trees bent in the blustering wind. The garden was covered in snow.

"John, not today, all right?"

John gawped at his mother. "As if you'll let me go tomorrow. I have never been out of this house. Just let me go outside."

Anna reached for his hand and pulled her son close to her. "Listen to me. You're seventeen soon and then you can go wherever you want. You'll be able to use magic and your Dad will have trained you up in defence and then I'll be happy to let you go wherever you want, but stay in for now. The weather's miserable anyway."

John snatched his hand from hers. "What did I ever do to you? What have I ever done? You keep me here like a prisoner. I have never left these four walls!"

His father, busying himself with icing the cake, replied, "That's not true. You went to Grimmauld for Christmas."

"Wow," said John, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Thanks, Dad. The walls were a different colour there. They were the most thrilling three days of my life."

Lupin threw down his palette knife and swung round, hissing, "Do you have _any_ idea what they will do to you? Are you _simple_?"

John glared at him. "They don't want me."

"They want your mother, John."

John shrugged. "Well, maybe I'd be able to get out for a bit."

Anna's mouth dropped open. "Do you really think that?" Tears began to pool in her dark eyes. "You think you're the only one who's had to make a sacrifice? You think I _want_ to live with a man who doesn't love me? You think I _want _to spend twenty-four hours every day trapped in this house? You think I don't _want_ to feel fresh air and get sunburned and blisters on my feet and get soaked in the rain? You don't think I miss those things? It's all for you, John. The past seventeen years have all been for you."

John scoffed. "You shouldn't have bothered. My life's not worth it. I don't _have_ a life."

* * *

><p>"How are you feeling?"<p>

Cara smiled sleepily. "Have you brought breakfast?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "No. I wanted to talk to you." She shut the door to her daughter's room behind her and sat at the end of the bed.

Cara fluffed up her pillows and leant against them. "I think I'd be more inclined to listen if you had pancakes."

"You _are_ your father." She straightened her skirt. "Dad says I shouldn't get involved, but I couldn't help but notice you over the past few days."

Cara ran a hand through her long black hair. "Notice me?"

"With the Lupin boy."

Cara beamed. "Oh, John. Yeah, he's wicked, isn't he? He reads the future and stuff. He's so clever, Mum."

Electra nodded. "Not a bad looking boy either, do you think?" She raised her jet black eyebrows.

Cara blushed. "_Mum_."

"Well?"

"Yeah, he's all right." Cara brushed her hair into her face and stared at her duvet cover. "I mean, you know, if you like that sort of thing."

Electra did not smile. "Do _you_ like that sort of thing?"

Cara frowned. "Mum, I'm fifteen next week. Stop it."

Electra sighed. "Cara, if it was any other boy, I would leave you to it, but he's a little old for you, don't you think?"

"He's sixteen."

Electra sucked in a breath. "I just think you're biting off more than you can chew."

Cara flung back the covers and got to her feet, her hands on her hips. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Sit down, Cara." Electra raised her eyebrows pointedly. "I said, sit down." She pursed her lips as her daughter obeyed. "Thank you. Has he told you about his father?"

Cara shrugged. "What about him?"

"His father is a werewolf, Cara."

Cara's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You heard. He's not told you then? Cara, do you have any idea what that would mean for you? His parents have been in hiding and if they don't want to tell him about his place in society then that's their lookout, but I won't have my only daughter ignorant."

Cara stormed out of the room and down the corridor, not even bothering to knock before slamming the door to her parents' bedroom behind her.

"Is it true?"

"Cara, I could have been naked."

Cara shrugged. "I don't give a shit. Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

She laughed bitterly. "Don't mess with me, Dad. I mean it. I know you know what I'm talking about. Mum said you'd spoken about it."

Sirius snapped, "For God's sake, _what_ is wrong?"

Cara took a step back, her electric blue eyes wide with fear. "I…John…John's father."

Sirius sighed irritably. "For fuck's sake. All right, sit down." He slammed the door with more ferocity than Cara would ever manage and despite the barred door between them, she heard every word of the vicious fight between her parents.

Eventually the door opened and Sirius forced himself to visibly relax. He sat opposite her and said quietly, "John's father is one of my dearest friends. We haven't seen each other in…well, quite some time, but that doesn't change anything. He happens to suffer from Lycanthropy. I don't care what the rest of the world thinks about that and neither should you. I would like to think I raised you better than that." He smiled grimly. "I did something very stupid once and I don't want you to make the same mistakes." He beckoned her over and pulled her into a tight embrace. "And don't fire the cannons at him either. You've only known each other a week and all you've done is made soppy bloody eyes at each other across the table." He pushed her away. "That _is_ all you've done, isn't it?"

Cara made a face. "Jesus Christ, Dad."

"All right. Just checking."

* * *

><p>"Apologise to your mother."<p>

John Lupin shook his head. "I meant it. I meant every word of it. You don't care about her really, do you?"

Lupin sat at the kitchen table and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know what she did to me? She crucified me. She broke my heart. She broke _me_, John. I used to love her. In a way, I still do. I'm just not quite ready to forgive her. I don't think I ever will be, but, John, I worship the ground she walks on for giving me you. You are the only part of me I'm proud of. Selfish, I know, but I don't want to see you hurt because for so many years, you've been the only reason I took the next breath."

John sniffed and nodded. "Okay."

"And your mother feels the same way. I know you must be confused because none of this is your fault, but you have to live like this. I know how that feels and I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise."

Lupin nodded. "All right. Just go and say you're sorry. I don't think you realise just how much you hurt her."

John sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"And if you really need to get out, we'll go out."

"Actually," said John, a strange glint in his eyes, "could you take me to Peter?"

Lupin's eyebrows shot behind his fringe. "Peter? Well, yes, but why?"

John shook his head. "It's not a big deal. I just want to talk to him."

* * *

><p>"What are you doing out here in the cold?"<p>

Harry shrugged. "Thinking."

His father sat beside him. "How long have you been thinking?"

Harry shrugged again. "No idea." He kept his eyes focused on the snow covered spire of the church.

They sat in silence for a moment, both watching the snow fall.

"If you froze to death out here, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night so might it be possible to get moving? We don't have to go home if you don't want. We could just traipse around the village, but frankly I need a bit of circulation in my legs. That's what happens when you get old. Come on." He got to his feet and held a hand out. "Up you get."

Harry merely looked at him.

"Take hold. Come on. You might need a bit of leverage to even get up. Don't you stick to snow? Or is that just your tongue?"

Harry smiled. "That would be ice."

"Knew it was one of the two." He heaved an unresponsive Harry to his feet and slung an arm around his shoulders, leading him in a contrary direction to their cottage.

"Er…where are we going?"

"For a walk."

"In the snow?"

James shrugged. "It would appear so, yes. We can't be too late back though. I told your mother I was going out and she looked at me like I was Captain Oates."

Harry stopped. "She's not my mother though, is she?"

James stared at him, wide-eyed. "Well, she is to my knowledge. I certainly don't recall sexual relations with anyone else at around the time of your conception. At _all_, in fact. I mean, Kathryn Verona _told_ everyone we were shagging, but-"

Harry frowned. "Who's Kathryn Verona?"

"Oh, a girl who was in my year at Hogwarts. I'd only asked her to a Valentine's dance and three weeks later, we were the talk of the school." He smiled sadly. "Harry, I know that maybe it seems as though we're trying to get rid of you, but we're not. I'm just worried about him. He's more concerned with his hair than saving the world."

Harry pulled a face. "Really?"

"I think he gets that from me."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, probably."

"Oi, you cheeky git!"

And as his father threw large snowballs at him, Harry promised himself he would make the most of the time he had with his parents and he would try not to resent them for wanting their son out of harm's way.

* * *

><p>Peter was to be found still at Grimmauld Place, packing the last of his belongings, avoiding the battle of wills between his host and his wife downstairs. He was attempting to lock his trunk when he received his visitor.<p>

"Oh, hello."

John closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "Don't 'hello' me. I know what you are."


	8. Secret Keeper

**A/N: Hello. Late again. Though in fairness, I've not even done my uni work yet. This is still a priority. Only a few chapters left now.**

Peter smiled and took a seat, crossing his legs with the ease of a man who might have been attending a garden party. "Yes, I thought so. I was forewarned."

John hissed. "So why not silence me then?"

"Because you're not the only one who can read people, Mr. Lupin. You are blatant."

John raised his eyebrows. "Meaning you are fully aware of what my father would do to you."

Peter laughed, a light and breezy sound as though John had told a vaguely amusing joke. "Please don't be disillusioned. You think I cannot handle your father? John, I was trained in the Dark Arts by the Dark Lord himself. Don't lie to yourself."

John shrugged. "You underestimate him."

Peter grinned. "I'm _sure _I do. Was there anything you actually wanted?"

John took a deep breath, licking his lips. "Yes. I know why you're here. You're getting Harry out of the way. In return for my silence, I want something from you."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "And what makes you think I'm afraid of a sixteen year old boy?"

John grinned mischievously. "It's not what I can do to you. It's what I can tell people, Peter. You're not afraid of me, but you _are _afraid of Dumbledore, aren't you?"

Peter scoffed. "I could silence you, John. I could silence you permanently."

John nodded. "Well, you _could_, but you won't. My father is downstairs. He knows where I am. He knows who I'm talking to. You think you can defeat him. I know you can't. He's deadly because he doesn't _look_ deadly. So you don't really have much choice, Peter."

Peter glared. "What do you want?"

"I want to jump dimensions."

Peter smiled sweetly. "Does Daddy know his little boy is delving into this sort of thing? You're bargaining with a Death Eater, John."

"I don't care. I just need to get out. I want to swap. I want to be able to go outside and meet other people and go to school. Even if I only get to experience it for a day. You give me that and I won't tell a soul about what you've done."

Peter nodded. "There's something you should know, John. There isn't a body you can swap. Your father, in the dimension I come from, has no children."

John shook his head. "That's not possible. My Mum-"

Peter shrugged. "You were killed before you were born. Your mother didn't care enough about you to keep herself out of harm's way. Your father wouldn't save you."

John shook. "That's not true."

"From what I have been told," said Peter, smiling smugly, "you were killed when your mother forced a miscarriage."

John winced and stepped back, his weight resting against the door. "She wouldn't do that. My mother is-"

Peter nodded. "She was a Death Eater, John. You know that, don't you? There is a child from another dimension. His name is Orion. I found him easily enough. He is the child raised by the Mulcibers. He is a Death Eater at your age."

John shook his head. "Not him. Not while there's a choice."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "You will bargain with one, but you don't want to face the fact that you _are_ one?"

"That child is _not_ me."

Peter grinned. "Oh, but he _is_. His father is the werewolf, Remus Lupin. Mulciber turns a blind eye and raises him as the son he never had, the son he always wanted - a son who will loyally serve the Dark Lord."

John wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Is there another child?"

Peter shrugged. "He is free to come and go as he pleases. He is educated at Hogwarts. What more do you want?"

John shook his head. "Nothing." He swallowed hard and met Peter's eyes. "I'm ready. How do I do it?"

Peter handed over a small crystal vial. "Drink this. It's a potion that breaks apart your body. Obviously, you will - both of you - emerge on the other side in one piece. This potion breaks every bone in your body. It hurts, but only for a fraction of a second. That's why I waited for a Qudditch match. I didn't want Harry asking awkward questions."

John nodded. "But you trust me?"

Peter shrugged. "You asked for it. I don't have to trick you."

"Would you mind if I did this in private? I've a score to settle with my father."

Peter opened the door and ushered the boy out, listening for the sounds of the ensuing argument two floors below him.

* * *

><p>"I need to talk to you."<p>

Lupin looked up from his mug of steaming tea. It was so full of sugar that it had the consistency of treacle. "What about?"

It occurred to John that he could hardly explain the situation to his father, least of all in the Blacks' kitchen while Electra and the house elf stared one another down.

"It's about my mother."

Electra raised her eyebrows by the merest fraction. "I believe I may be of more service."

John turned to her. "All right. Would she ever have got rid of me?"

Lupin gawped. "John, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious," snapped John. "In this other dimension, she did. She forced a miscarriage."

Lupin shifted awkwardly in his seat. "John, I don't know who's been telling you this, but there's no-one who could know. Harry was not even born at that time."

John's chocolate coloured eyes narrowed to slits. "Of course it's not Harry. I just want to know."

Electra pursed her lips. "I don't think she's as cold as that. She can be cold - colder even than I - but not enough to murder an unborn child."

John sniffed. "She was a Death Eater, wasn't she?"

Electra pursed her lips and said eventually, "We all make poor choices at some point in our lives. We all make mistakes. Hindsight is a wonderful thing."

Lupin nodded solemnly. "Well said."

John blinked furiously. "How can you say that?" he asked his father. "How can you sit there, look me in the eyes, and say that? She was a sodding Death Eater!"

Lupin shrugged. "I loved her once. She had a pull over me, John. I lost my father when I was only a little older than you are now and it destroyed me inside. I don't think I've ever been the same since. Your mother ran into me. We had…_relations_-"

"Sex," said John. "Just say 'Sex'. I know what it is, for God's sake!"

"All right, fine. We had sex. Three months later, she finds me. She's terrified that her husband will find out. She knows the child is not Mulciber's. It can't be. She knows that soon she will start to show and she doesn't know what will happen then. Even if she starts sleeping with her husband, who has been in Eastern Europe for the last five months, it will be too late. Mulciber's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he can count to nine, John. _Just_."

John managed a small smile.

"So, you see, even though I hated her, I had to step in to save you. We both loved you. Neither of us wanted any harm to come to you. What _might_ have happened, _if_ it's true that you don't exist in this other damn dimension which is taking over my life, then has the thought not occurred that maybe I _didn't _meet your mother in August 1978? Maybe we both carried on our own sweet _separate_ ways."

John nodded. "That's all I needed to hear." He cocked his head slightly to the right as might a bemused sparrow. "There's also something I think you should know. I might have made a couple of poor choices myself lately, but I don't think there's anything I can do about it now." He held up the vial. "I've taken this. It was Peter's."

* * *

><p>"We should do something together."<p>

Harry looked up from the stack of ancient comics dating from the early '80s that littered the floor space beneath his bed. Evidently, his parallel-self was a hoarder. He lay on his stomach, his arms searching frantically under the bed, looking as though he was trying to swim through the carpet.

"Really?" He scrambled to his feet and stared at his father, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah, of course." James grinned and brushed an unruly strand of hair from the lens of his spectacles. "You haven't seen all the cool stuff I've got to show you yet. _My_ Harry's bored shitless." He turned, stopping suddenly halfway across the room's threshold. "Don't tell your mother I'm using words like 'shitless' in front of you. I don't think she'd like it. She's a miserable mare, your mother, when she wants to be."

Harry laughed and followed his father down the stairs.

"We'll be in the garden," James called in the direction of the kitchen, ushering Harry out into a large expanse of mowed lawn and bluebells. He led him to a common or garden Muggle shed. It was coloured apple green with wood stain and bore a Victorian door knocker in the exact upper centre of the door.

"It's a shed," said Harry, frowning slightly.

James stared back at him. "I know it's a shed. Of _course_ it's a shed." He opened the door and stood in it, blocking the passage inside. "Harry, every man should have a shed. Women, especially women like your mother, have got some sort of allergy to cool things. They like to give them away to charity or throw them away."

Harry nodded, thinking that, from what he had heard of his father, his mother was well within her rights.

"All right. In you come. Quick, before she starts to pick up the scent of fun." He winked and closed the door behind them. "Your mum is wonderful, Harry, but when the Ministry calls in something badly manufactured or dangerous, she's the sort who actually turns it in."

Harry nodded. "So she's normal then?"

James clicked his tongue. "Square, Harry. The word is 'Square'." He headed toward a chest in the corner and pulled out a large piece of fabric which brought a wide smile to Harry's face. "This is-"

"-an Invisibility Cloak."

James visibly deflated. "Ah. Of course. Makes perfect sense. So you've seen all this too."

Harry shook his head violently. "But the cloak was passed onto me." He spotted a large collection of brooms in the corner and nodded toward them. "I've never seen those."

James beamed. "My racing brooms." He pulled a favourite from the middle. Its handle was made of ebony, the twigs of a deep and rich red. "_This_ is one your mother would have turned in years ago. My parents bought it for my sixteenth. It was _the_ thing to have at the time. Turned out to be a bit of a wild thing though. I swear, it has a mind of its own. I never take it out because, you know, I value my life, but I can't bear to get rid of it so not a word, all right? It might be the last one in existence. They were called in and destroyed - remade, of course, but my parents had passed away by then and this was their gift so…" He trailed off and propped it against the wall with the others of its kind. "They're in chronological order," said James, pointing at the broom closest to the wall. "That's a Cleansweep There. It's practically an antique. I had that for my first match."

Harry grinned. "Do you still buy them? I mean, that's a Firebolt."

James winced. "That's Harry's."

Harry nodded. "Of course." He smiled a very small and sad smile. "Was it a present? Did Sirius buy it?"

James, wide-eyed, replied, "Last July. It was a birthday present from all of the Blacks."

Harry laughed breathily. "I ride a Firebolt that Sirius bought for me. I thought maybe-"

James nodded. "Wow. Small er…worlds."

"You have the mirror," said Harry, catching sight of the sunlight shimmering on the oval glass.

"They were for detentions," said James. "I used to abuse it all the time. Sirius always carried it with him or left it in the drawer of his bedside table. He hated the thought of breaking it. He got so bloody precious about it. So I'd always pretend some sort of emergency was going on and I'd drag him from something ridiculously important for the hell of it. I've got no idea where he keeps his, but the appeal has gone out of calling him round pretending my house is on fire. That's middle-age for you."

Harry nodded, somewhat bemused, wondering what Ron might do if he tried the same thing. The thought was not pleasant. He escaped the images of his best friend digging him a grave when his father moved on and opened a drawer full of whirring devices.

"Have you heard of Gnomes?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. My friend's mother had us getting rid of them one summer."

James' eyes lit up. "Ah! But did she have one of these?"

Harry shook his head. "We kicked them off her property."

"These are banned in every country except Germany. If you want something illegal, go to Germany, that's what I always say."

It was beginning to look as though it was what he always _did_.

"They lure gnomes out. Listen to that noise. They can't resist it. The Ministry says it's inhumane, but I think tricking them into your neighbours' gardens is a lot more human than kicking them."

Harry spent the rest of his afternoon browsing through drawer after drawer of slightly illegal gadgets, terrified that the more he bonded with this man, the harder it would be to live without him.

* * *

><p>"I am not the child of a Death Eater and a werewolf," said John. "And you can try to make me whatever you think I am, but I am not a dark creature. I <em>know<em> I'm not. What I _am_, Peter, is the child of two rather exceptional spies. It's in my blood. I'd like to say that I'm sorry, but I'm not. I took that vial from you and I turned it in. You're a nasty piece of work and I'm not sorry at all."

Peter stared at him. "You swore to keep my secret."

John nodded. "Yes, Peter. I believe it's called irony."


	9. Antidote

**A/N: Well, this is awkward. Sorry, everyone. Thank you for sticking with me. Thank you for your support, for your reviews, for taking the time to read this. **

"Harry!"

Harry opened the front door of his parents' cottage. "Yes?"

His mother blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry. I thought you were at the bottom of the garden. You have a visitor."

John was sat at their kitchen table, a strange smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Can we talk upstairs?"

Harry frowned. "Uh…yeah. Sure."

On closing his bedroom door, he told John to make himself at home. John, who Harry rarely ever saw wearing an obvious expression, was clearly excited. His dark eyes shone.

"What? What is it?"

John winced. "Right. I have the…er…the potion that will send you home. I turned it in, but I haven't told anyone what it does yet. I wanted to know whether I should - whether you wanted to go back."

A chill ran the length of Harry's spine. He tried to keep his composure. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I do."

John smiled sadly. "Maybe it's selfish, but you're the first friend I've ever had and I…I don't know. Maybe I was hoping you'd change your mind or something."

"I don't really have a choice, John."

John nodded. "I think I knew that all along. You were right, by the way. I've known for a while that Peter isn't who he says he is."

Harry's eyes shot up. "Who is he?"

"Well, he's Peter."

"Of course he's Peter. Who's he really?"

John sighed. "Peter is Peter. He's the Peter from your world."

Harry's jaw dropped. "He was so bloody indignant!"

"Well he would be, wouldn't he? He's gone to all this trouble to bring you here, he's obviously not going to turn round and admit to everything on your first night."

"But he admitted it to you?"

John grinned. "He didn't have much choice. I told him I knew what he was and he poured it all out to me. He even handed me the potion. I had to con him out of it and I think my father, when he finds out I knew and that I didn't tell him, is probably going to skin me alive and wear my head as a hat."

Harry attempted a smile. "So what's left to do?"

"If you're going back, you need to go soon."

Harry nodded. "So I should probably let people know then."

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>The AGA whistled as Harry walked into the kitchen. His mother idly stirred a vast pot of gravy. The cat lay on the table, ignoring the glares James was casting in its direction from behind <em>The Daily Prophet<em>.

"Lily, is there any chance you could move this cat off the table? I eat off of this."

Harry cleared his throat. "I um…John's got hold of the potion to send me back."

Lily dropped her spoon and spun round to face him. Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

Harry hadn't expected her to be thrilled by the notion. He knew that she missed her son and that she worried about him, but he wasn't quite ready to see it in her eyes. His face fell and she ran to him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Harry thought, to show his indignation, that he ought to pull away but before he could really think about it, he responded with ferocity, inhaling the scent of her favourite perfume, memorizing the exact texture of her hair on his face.

"Always remember that I love you," she told him. "And don't ever give up."

"I won't," Harry whispered back.

She pulled away. "I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "I understand."

James put down his paper and sighed. "Do you want to go now?"

Harry nodded. It was better, he assured himself, to get it over with - rip the wound open and face the pain before he could have time to talk himself out of it.

"Okay. Are you ready now?"

"Yes."

"Lily, could you call John? He can go with you." He managed a small smile for Harry. "All right, come on then."

Harry frowned at him, puzzled.

"You can't Apparate. I can. I assume we're going to Islington?"

Harry nodded.

"I'm going to miss you, you know."

Harry looked up at his father. "Not as much as I'm going to miss you, I can assure you." He wasn't sure that he trusted himself to speak, but Harry knew he would regret it if he didn't say anything. "I used to wonder what you'd be like whenever I was scared, or I ended up on the roof of my school building, or chased up a tree by Ripper, or lonely. I still do. You're everything I thought you'd be."

James hummed. "Which is all well and good, unless this is a polite way of telling me I'm a knob."

"No. I can't honestly say I imagined a shed full of illegal goods at the bottom of your garden, but the rest was pretty much spot-on." He took a deep breath and smiled weakly. "Are we going?"

James nodded. "Just one thing. For my eighteenth birthday, Remus gave me a book. He liked giving books. It was about a modern day messiah and it was full of zany little slogans that should come stitched on a pillow somewhere. It was just the sort of thing he loved. I don't remember many of those sayings, but there's one that really stuck with me. It said, 'Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof'. It's true. Just look at Sirius. Sometimes, family is what you make it. Whenever you feel alone, I want you remember that, okay?"

"Okay."

James sighed. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>The basement kitchen of Grimmauld place was a hive of activity by the time Harry arrived there, still attached to his father's arm and feeling queasy.<p>

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table while Sirius paced around the room, running his hands through his hair and spitting obscenities. Harry thought him decidedly reminiscent of the Sirius he knew.

"You know, I don't understand," said Electra, twirling her wand between her long fingers and glaring ominously at Peter, "why you can't just tell me what that used to hold." She indicated the empty vial John had turned in. It sat before Peter at the centre of the table. "I also fail to grasp your need to leave so quickly."

"That's the antidote to all this," said John, leaning against the wall, unused to Apparation and not entirely trusting his legs to hold out. "That contained a potion that would allow you to jump dimensions."

Lupin's eyes betrayed his surprise. "How long have you known this?"

John shrugged. "I've thought it might for a while. This afternoon, Peter confirmed it."

Sirius stopped suddenly and, directing his question toward his kitchen cabinet, said slowly, "What would you be doing trying to jump dimensions?"

"I don't know what it is. I've never seen it before."

John shook his head. "You're not making me out to be an idiot, Mr. Pettigrew."

Peter threw him a murderous glare. "I wouldn't dream of it. This is beyond an idiot's capabilities. It's a very clever lie."

John nodded. "I see. So the fact that I have a spare vial, full of this stuff, doesn't mean anything? You didn't give it to me only this afternoon?"

"No."

Electra shrugged. "Well, there's an easy way to do this. John, could I have that vial?"

John pulled it from his pocket and laid it in Electra's outstretched hand. "That's the only one I have. It's for Harry."

Electra nodded sharply. "I see. Do you have any more of these lying around, Peter?"

Peter whimpered. "I said I'd never seen it before."

"I think we all know that's bullshit," she replied sweetly. "I said, do you have any more of these lying around, Peter?"

"I have never seen it before."

Electra glared at him. "Cara, do me a favour and fetch one of these from the guest room."

Cara reluctantly left the room. Peter's eyes were wide with fear and followed her to the door.

"I don't understand why we're going through all this," said Harry. "Why not just send me back?"

"You think we're going to give you that? We don't even know what's in it," snapped Sirius, his eyes baring into Peter's. "So what is it, Peter?"

"I said-"

"Do _not_ fuck with me."

Peter trembled. "All right, it's a potion, but I don't know what it does."

Sirius nodded. "I thought you might. All right, well you can be my guinea-pig, Peter. Let's find out, shall we?" He glanced up as Cara turned the doorknob. "Perfect timing. You get that from me." He accepted the vial from her and handed it to Peter. "Drink it."

Peter looked at the vial in his hands. "Surely, you can't be serious."

"Oh, absolutely. Bottoms up."

Peter slowly twisted the cork, wondering whether an easy solution would come to him. He met Harry's eyes. "I owe you a debt. I thought if I hid you away, it would be paid. I don't think you realise how much the thought genuinely repulses me. This way there's no-one to defeat the Dark Lord. This way my debt is paid without him knowing about it - with anyone knowing about it."

"What do you-?"

Before Lily could ask her question, Peter had knocked back the contents. The chair was empty for a moment before it was once again filled with a badly dressed, rat-faced gentleman with unkempt blonde hair.

John shifted his weight from the wall onto his feet. He caught Peter's attention.

"You must be the Lupin boy." He held out his hand. John shook it gingerly. "He told me all about you. You terrified him." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I was starting to think I'd be in that cellar forever."

Sirius said nothing, pointing his wand into Peter's face.

"I thought we might exchange pleasantries before we went through this rigmarole. I haven't seen you since November."

Sirius nodded once, sharply. "And what was the last thing I said to you?"

Peter gawped. "Oh, fucking hell, Pad. I don't know. It was your birthday. I said…um…I was leaving. I said 'Happy birthday' and you said 'Thanks' and I…no, that wasn't it. You said something else. You said…" He beamed. "You said 'Thanks for coming' and I said 'Thanks for having me' and then you said, 'As the actress said to the bishop'."

Cara made a noise expressing deep disgust.

"And the last time I saw homework from you was October!"

Cara fell silent.

"I'm sorry," said James, "am I the only person wondering what happened to him? Jesus Christ, look at him!"

Peter turned in his chair. "You look wonderful too, James. Thank you very much. I'm not entirely sure what happened. I woke up one morning in a cellar and every day for the last couple of weeks, Peter has been taking my hair to make a Polyjuice potion. I'm not sure what he was intending to do with me beyond that." He pursed his lips. "But enough about me, how was _your_ Christmas?"

"Sorry."

"Oh it's quite all right. I've had a lovely little break."

"You know, Peter, the position of sarcastic bitch has been filled," said Sirius. "Not that you're not doing a wonderful job of it, it's just that Remus is the master and-"

Peter raised his eyebrows at Lupin. "Why hello, Remus, long time no see."

Lupin winced. "Really, it's a very long story."

"I've got time. I'm calling in sick tomorrow and then I think I'm going to have my mid-life crisis."

"What'll _you_ do?" Harry asked, turning to John. "I mean, what'll you do when you're of age?"

John shrugged. "I might travel. I'd like to see the world. I've taken a bit of a liking to spying, you know."

Lupin shook his head. "Oh no you don't. It's dangerous. It's lonely."

"You know, Dad, your disapproval is only adding to the appeal." He smiled at Harry. "It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime. Well, not anytime. I'll never see you again, but all the same…"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Cheers." He sucked in a breath and turned back to the assembled company. "Can I have the vial?"

Electra wordlessly handed it to him. She smiled grimly.

"Well," said Harry, "it's been the best Christmas of my life. I'll miss you all."

"You know," said John, "you weren't really required to make a speech. I'm just stepping in now before this turns into the end of _The Wizard of Oz_."

Harry pulled at the cork, breathed deeply, and took his last look around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, at his friends, at his loved ones. He swallowed quickly.

* * *

><p>The pain was almost unbearable. It felt as though he was being torn apart and slowly reassembled. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in the Hospital Wing. He wore the same striped pyjamas he had worn when Cara woke him. He glanced around the room for her, almost wishing she would appear from behind the curtain and terrorize him with her non-stop chatter and irritating habits.<p>

"All right, mate?"

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

He groaned and attempted to sit up. His pillow was snatched from behind him and fluffed up before being placed at a ninety degree angle so that he could lean against it.

"Are you all right? You've not been yourself lately."

"You've been really weird, to be honest."

"Extremely. Ron and I have been worried about you."

"Yeah. You even went to the Muggles for Christmas this year. You sent a card to 'Sirius and family'. You went mental."

'_Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof._'

As his eyes came to focus on the concerned faces of Ron and Hermione, Harry thought that he had never heard a truer statement in his life.


End file.
